


A Remedy for Rain Soaked Wings

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: Strange Hearts & Wild Things [2]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Butterfly wings are useless when damp, Established Relationship, Griselda is determined to get herself some grandbabies, Humor, Romance, Shelter from the Storm, butterfly bog, fluff and comfort, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 20:44:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3543173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You would think that a forest would protect your wings from rain, but noooo…after weeks away from Bog, Marianne braves a thunderstorm to see him and arrives soaked. The obvious solution? Snuggles on the throne. </p><p>Part 2 of my "Strange Hearts & Wild Things" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Remedy for Rain Soaked Wings

**Author's Note:**

> I feel I should address this - I figure that Marianne is pretty touch-starved in the movie, what with how she sinks into that hug with her father. So it seems natural that she would be the one to initiate most of the up-close-and-personal moments with Bog, especially since he’s our glorious King of Awkwardness. However, I also think she would struggle with testing certain areas of their new relationship. Sometimes it’s not the passionate moments that make people over think, but the casual ones.
> 
> Also, I love Griselda. She is an absolute hoot to write.

Dodging another raindrop, Marianne ducked under a leaf and swore. She glared out from beneath the meager shelter at the Dark Forest as though it had personally wronged her. Which, she reasoned to herself, fuming, wasn’t entirely untrue. Forests were supposed to give some shelter from storms, weren’t they? Especially one as thick and wild as the Dark Forest. What use was a canopy of leaves if they didn’t protect you?

Though, she admitted a touch sourly, she had been the one who decided to come out here anyways, even after seeing the roll of dark, ominous looking clouds quickly approaching the Fairy Kingdom. Dawn had looked worried when she had announced she was leaving, but it was her father’s fretting and comments of “You would be better off staying here, darling,” that had made Marianne grit her teeth and wave goodbye to the two of them as she sped off to the Forest. She had suspected her father was really trying to get her to stay away from the Forest as long as he could, and after eight weeks –  _eight weeks!_ – she was through with waiting.

But then she had felt the drops on her skin, and soon, alarmingly, on her wings…

Marianne rubbed her now very chilled arms, angry at herself for her rashness and at her father – she was sure she wouldn’t have been so foolhardy to rush off if he hadn’t had made such an obvious effort to keep her at home and away from Bog.

 _Bog…_ Her resolve strengthening, and Marianne shook her wings out once more before she darted out from beneath the leaf as a bolt of lightening lit the sky, jagged patches of light spotting the floor of the Forest, giving the place an even eerier look.  

 _Eight weeks without seeing him._  Marianne knew damn well that she was her own person, and that she was strong and independent and didn’t need anyone to hold her hand, but…come on! That was an obscenely long time to be away from someone you –

She yelped and flinched as a crack of thunder  _BOOMED_  through the air. She swore she could feel electricity crackle in the air, and she tried to put on another burst of speed, dodging raindrops that were now coming down in torrents. Her wings, never one to let her down, made an honest attempt, but she could feel herself lagging. She felt a flare of real nervousness in her chest. If she ended up grounded before reaching the Throne Room, and had to fend for herself in the Dark Forest in the midst of a storm…

 _Don’t concentrate on that_ , she told herself sternly, and flew so hard she felt her lungs strain.  _Don’t concentrate on anything except –_

-A light flared out in the rainy darkness, and Marianne felt her heart leap with joy at the sight of the familiar skull entrance and the warm light spilling from its mouth - 

_\- Getting there. Oh, thank god._

She was already beginning to grin as she began her descent, fairly sure that people shouldn’t be quite so happy at the sight of an animal skull, but she wasn’t going to worry about that now.

A sudden howl of wind pushed her alarmingly off course, and she fought desperately against it when she felt her wings give out.  _Oh no._  She dropped like a stone and barely had time to think as she saw the entrance rushing up to greet her. Using all her training instincts, she used her momentum to angle herself, tucking herself into a tight ball so that she rolled when she hit the pathway to the entrance. After tumbling for a bit, she was able to stop herself, digging her hands into rotting wood and dirt and pebbles, feeling it bite into her knees.  _Oh, **ouch** , that would smart in the morning._ She slowly got up, her hands and legs stinging, but it was her wings that she inspected with worry. If they had been damaged…

They were utterly soaked, but whole. She sighed to herself, then began to make her way into the main chamber, a slight limp to her walk. Bog better be here after what she went through…

She pushed her sodden bangs off of her face, all too aware that she was a complete and utter mess. She looked around the empty hallway to the Throne Room and was slightly relieved that no one was here. Maybe she could straighten up a bit before anyone told Bog that –

“MARIANNE! DARLING, YOU’RE HERE! OH, IT’S BEEN AGES, SWEET PEA!”

Marianne suppressed a groan as she saw Griselda hurry down the hallway to her, her grin wide and welcoming as always. “Hey, Griselda,” Marianne greeted her tiredly. She usually didn’t have too much of a problem handling Griselda and her rampant enthusiasm, but right now she was sore and tired and chilly and soaking wet and oh, she just wanted to get warm and see Bog…

Griselda beamed up at her as she got closer, before her brows furrowed as she took Marianne’s sodden hair and clothes, her tunic plastered to her body and her hair dripping down into her eyes. “Marianne, honey doll…tell me you didn’t get stuck in that awful weather out there?”

“Afraid so.” Marianne tried to give a blasé grin and was valiantly trying not to shiver when Griselda gave a gasp of genuine distress.

“Oh, poor little weed,  _your wings_! Oh honey, we need to take care of that,” Griselda tutted, her face going into  _I Am A Mother And I Know What Is Best_ mode, and she seized one of Marianne’s freezing hands and pulled her down the hall, Marianne tripping over her increasingly numb feet. Her wings dragged behind her like a wet cape; making a depressing, damp sounding  _shhhhh_  sound as they passed over the floor.

Griselda looked over her shoulder at her, honest befuddlement on her face. “Sweetie, didn’t you see the storm coming? Why didn’t you take cover once it started? Those things get vicious out here, I tell ya what.”

Marianne felt her shoulders slump even more. “I thought I could beat it. I was trying to get here as quick as I could  -“

“-‘Cause you were missing my boy,” finished Griselda, nodding, a triumphant smirk growing on her lips. Marianne rolled her eyes but didn’t contradict her. “Well, I can’t blame ya then, honey. It’s been too long for the both of ya! Eight weeks! He’s been getting all out of sorts, and I’m sure it’s been no picnic for you either –“

Marianne was honestly going to answer her, if only to stop her rambling, when the doors to the throne room were thrown open with a mighty bang. Stuff peered out from the doorway at Griselda, saw Marianne, gave a squawk, and raced off someplace.

“Gonna get my son and reunite you two lovebirds,” Griselda explained airily, prodding her captive into the throne room while she wandered off to another room. Marianne wasn’t sure if she was feeling exasperation or the beginnings of hypothermia. Another shiver shook her body, and she groaned. Hypothermia it was, then.

She pushed a hand through her sopping mess of hair when she heard a voice cry  _“Marianne!”,_  a voice that she had begun to miss terribly in the last few weeks. She lifted her head up and immediately felt her tired body relax a bit as Bog flew over to her, his mouth in a tense, worried frown.

He landed and swore when he took all of her in. “You’re soaked to the bone, you bloody fool – why were you in that storm in the first place?!” Frustration made his voice even rougher than usual, but there was an undertone of true concern to it. However, in her wet, tired, and freezing state, Marianne wasn’t too keen on noticing that detail and immediately bristled at his scolding.

She glared up at him, any happy feeling at finally seeing him again going up in smoke. “I was trying to get here as fast as I could, because, oh, gosh, it’s been ages since I saw you and for some stupid reason, I thought you would like to see me, but apparently since I’m such a  _bloody fool_ –"

“Oh, put a sock in it, the two of you,” Griselda said, casually waddling back into the room, holding a bundle of moss blankets. “Boggy, she came all this way in a storm to see you. Marianne, sweetie, he’s been pining after you and being a real sourpuss about it.” She dumped the blankets at their feet and put her hands on her hips, glaring at them authoritatively. “Now you’re both tired and frustrated, but may I remind you, you have eight weeks to make up for.” She turned on her heel and marched out of the room, casually continuing to talk to them over her shoulder. “So quit the crabbin’ and get to the sweet lovin’.”  

She turned at the doorway and smiled sweetly at their dumbstruck faces. “I’ll make sure you two aren’t disturbed,” she promised, and then shut the door with a snap.

Bog and Marianne looked at each other, not exactly sure what to do after that, when they heard a mighty yell from outside. “IF ANY OF YOU IDIOTS INTERRUPT MY SON’S TIME WITH HIS SWEETHEART, I WILL FEED YOU TO A LIZARD, AND IT WILL BE A BIG ONE! DON’T THINK THAT I WON’T! THAT MEANS YOU TOO, STUFF AND THANG! SCRAM!”

Marianne hesitantly chanced a look at Bog, and yep, his face was in his hand. Her lips quirked in a slight grin even as another shiver went through her. “Determined lady, isn’t she?”

“You have no idea,” Bog muttered, rubbing at his face tiredly. He raised his eyes to hers before looking away, and she could feel a wave of uncomfortable guilt coming off of him. She shifted from one foot to another, feeling a wriggle of the same emotion in her gut. Not sure what to do, she busied herself by unbuckling her scabbard, her sword dropping to the floor with a clatter, and wringing out as much as she could from her tunic. She then shook out her hair, flinging droplets of water everywhere. Both hair and tunic were still damp, but it was a start. Her wings, however…

He coughed, and then pointed at the blankets on the floor. “You, ah…you want one?”

Marianne nodded before cursing, remembering her biggest problem right then aside from the shivering and exhaustion. “I would, but I think I need to let these dry. The moss will trap the moisture in,” she explained ruefully, turning in a circle to show him the pathetic state of her wings.

His eyes immediately went wide with distress. “Your wings! We need to –"

“I know, I know, I need to take care of them,” she grumbled, but it was half hearted, as was her attempt to spread her wings out behind her. Gathering all her concentration, she managed to get them unfolded, but it was none of the ease that she usually had. She sighed once more. “I should have taken cover –"

“I am glad you’re here,” Bog cut in, his eyes avoiding hers. Marianne, trying to test her wings by giving them a flutter, paused, her heart giving a hard, heavy little thump. “I…” he sighed, the frustration in it so clearly at himself. “I didn’t mean to be so-"

“It’s okay,” she murmured, feeling herself soften. “I shouldn’t have –"

“No, I should have -,” he stopped himself, realizing that she had drifted closer to him as he had been very carefully not looking at her. She couldn’t stop her smile – they didn’t finish what the other said like Sunny and Dawn did, but instead seemed to communicate entirely in cut-off sentences and trailing words. It was awkward and weird and probably not socially acceptable, and she was starting to realize that it suited them just fine.

Bog finally looked at her, his eyes guarded, but she could see the need there, the same one she had in her. She didn’t deny either of them any longer and closed the distance between them, drawing herself to his chest. His arms immediately went around her, tugging her even closer, the roughness of his skin catching on hers in a familiar bite, and she let out a sigh mixed with a shiver. Whether that shiver was a result from the stubborn chill that continued to cling to her or from finally,  _finally_  being reunited with him, she chose not to let her mind focus on that particular question.

She let out a quiet breath and whispered as softly as she could, “I missed you.”

“Welcome back,” he murmured and oh,  _wow,_  just being pressed against him and feeling the roll of his words, his voice a low, soft growl…she shivered again, and this time it was definitely all due to him. She felt him chuckle –  _at her, gee thanks Bog_  - and simply pressed herself closer, just letting herself enjoy the embrace, and he made no protest. Her eyes drifted close as she snuggled into his chest, and she felt him lean against the crown of her head before inhaling deeply.

Marianne’s eyes snapped open. “Bog, are you sniffing me?”

Bog jumped back. “What -? No! No I wasn’t!”

She leaned back and eyed his expression. His eyes darted away, his mouth in an uneasy grimace, and she was certain there was a faint flush to his cheeks.  _Guilty as sin_. She let out a snicker, which turned into a cackle when he gave her a filthy look.  

“Oh yes, laugh at the King, see how that works for you,” he muttered, letting her go and picking up the blankets from the floor, his wings giving an irritable twitch.

She swatted at him, still giggling. “Oh, come on, it’s not  _super_  creepy or anything,” she teased.  _Especially since I’ve been doing it to you too._  Not that she would ever let him know that if she could help it. Still, it was maddening, the fact that even after all this time, she still couldn’t decipher what exactly made him smell so  _good_ …it was a sort of mossy and almost pungent scent, like freshly turned soil and rotting wood, but then there was traces of something else, something mild, something that spoke of the crackle of dry leaves and the wind that would blow through the Dark Forest at night…

Giving herself a mental shake, Marianne quickly grabbed her sword from the floor and followed Bog as he made his way to his throne, throwing down the blankets before cracking his neck, letting out a quiet groan.  Marianne bit the inside of her cheek, feeling her own face flush. It would never do for him to find out what that one little action did to her.

He sat on the throne, sinking into his usual slouch, and she perched herself on the arm after depositing the sword on the floor and snatching up a blanket, draping it over her lap. She immediately felt some warmth come back into her legs and wriggled her toes a bit appreciatively. She gave her still sodden wings a tug before giving a disgusted grunt. “I’m going to be grounded for at least two days with these things like this.”

He quirked a brow at her, eyes curious. “Is that…is that why you came in the storm? To have a legitimate excuse to not return to your own kingdom?”

“No, I’m not that –“ she paused, and then began nodding. “ _Yes._  Yes, that is exactly what happened. I planned this out to the letter, everything, yep –"

“Clever girl,” he said, his grin sharp and his eyes deeply amused.

“And tough,” she reminded him, nudging his knee with a foot. “Never forget that. You’re a lucky guy.”

“Don’t I know it,” he said, and oh god,  _oh god_ , the utter sincerity in his voice nearly killed her, and she felt her breath doing that thing where it caught in her throat, as if the emotions in her were welling up to keep her from speaking so she wouldn’t ruin the moment. He shifted a bit, looking slightly awkward but not terribly. He was becoming more and more secure in letting her know how he felt, while she still felt horribly vulnerable whenever she let something slip. She cleared her throat, a bit loudly, before breaking out in another shiver. Damn, this chill was stubborn.

Bog looked over her hair and clothes, his brow creased in concern. “I thought you were becoming more dry.”

“Nope,” she muttered, rubbing her arms with her hands as quickly as she could, desperately trying to get warm from the friction. “Just less damp. I guess the cold put in some roots.”

Before she could even react, she was being pulled off of the arm of the throne and onto –  _oh my **god** –_

“Uhhh…” Marianne knew she probably had the dumbest look of shock on her face, as Bog shifted around to get more comfortable, settling her on his lap and tugging the mossy blanket over to her once more. “This is…new.”

Bog shrugged, his expression nonchalant. “I could feel you beginning to warm when you were close to me. It appears to work.” He raised a brow at her. “Unless you would rather stay cold…?”

“No! I just…” Marianne fumbled a bit with what to say next, not sure why she was so nervous. She and Bog had shared the throne before – once for a brief and glorious moment when the whole Throne Room was empty and they had gotten  _very_  friendly indeed – but even then,  _she hadn’t been sitting on his lap!_   _With a blanket!_

It was…so… _intimate_ , and not in the heat-the-moment intimate that Marianne could deal with. This was…casually intimate, which she was still struggling with. She looked around, grasping at straws, then gestured at her damp wings. “They…they still need to dry,” she said a bit lamely.

“Here,” Bog reached over and with a delicacy she would have never though possible for his claws, he gently unfolded and spread her wings behind her, so that they draped over the edge of the throne in all their currently soggy glory. “Leave them be and they should start to.”

“…Thank you,” she said softly, still unsure of how to proceed. Bog was normally so shy about these sorts of things that it was a bit unsettling for her to see him so unconcerned with such closeness. Usually she was the one initiating things between them. Then again, this wasn’t a passionate moment. It was merely…practical. She had been wet and cold, Bog wanted to make her warm and dry. Easy as that.  _Oh, if only._

She mentally rolled her eyes at her increasingly melodramatic train of thought and leaned back into Bog’s chest, tucking her knees up close to her. He crossed an arm over and around her shoulders, and huh, what do you know, she was already getting warmer. She let out a sigh and had let her eyes drift close when Bog spoke.

“So…eight weeks. You’ve been keeping busy.”

She let out a dry chuckle. “You could say that. I end up collapsing on my bed each night, I’m that exhausted.” It was true – even though right now she was thoroughly worn out from the journey here, her tiredness had been getting to her for a while now, a bone deep fatigue that made her mind dull and which she was positive was responsible for giving her eyes a squint. She could barely wake up for her morning training lately.

“More councils? Tell me your father hasn’t increased the number to seven.”

She snorted. “He wouldn’t dare, but…honestly, Dad has been really pushing me to become more involved in the protocol. And truthfully, I wouldn’t mind, it’s just…I don’t think he’s wanting it for…for the right reasons.”

She felt Bog shift. “Care to explain?”

 _Whoo boy…_  She took a deep breath and continued. “If he honestly wanted me to learn and hear what I had to say, to listen to my opinions about what is working and what needs to change, I would probably enjoy it a lot more. But I think…”  _okay, tough part, be brave,_ “…I think he’s mostly concerned in keeping me occupied and tired enough so…so that I won’t come and visit you.”

There was a silence after that confession, which didn’t surprise Marianne, though she still didn’t like it. Without opening her eyes, she nudged him in the chest with her shoulder. “Hey, don’t get broody on me. Be happy that I’m stubborn as all get out and go after what I want.”

His reply was still tinged with enough unhappiness that it made her heart twist a bit. “Obviously…your father hasn’t reconciled himself to…us.”

Marianne’s mouth tugged into a frown, feeling the now familiar feeling of resentment toward her father bubbling to the surface. “He’s been…struggling, let’s say that,” she stated, her voice becoming a touch acerbic. “He knows that I’m not happy with him for it though, so he’s trying…” She huffed out a breath. “It’s not just with you, he’s being pretty reluctant about Dawn and Sunny too.  _‘It’s just not traditional’_  ”, she said, deepening her voice in an imitation of the Fairy King, sarcasm heavy in every word.

Bog snorted. “Some traditions are meant to be broken.”

She grinned at that; how he was echoing the words she had flung at her father in anger. “Yeah, they are. But…” she sighed, feeling herself deflate a bit. “He really does want me to be happy. He honestly does, and I love him for that. He’s just not ready to accept what that actually means…”

“A Goblin and a Fairy,” Bog muttered, and she felt him shift again, leaning his chin against the side of her head. “No one seems to know how to deal with it.”

She didn’t open her eyes but raised a brow. “Have your subjects been saying things?” She was surprised – all the goblins at the court seemed to like her just fine.

“One hears mutterings,” he merely said, before continuing at a jab from her elbow, “ _Argh, you crazy wench, fine_  – some of the Elders of the goblins have expressed displeasure at a Fairy being my new…paramour, shall we say.” 

She frowned. “Even if she’s the Princess of the Fairy Kingdom and the two Kingdoms would be united?”

“Especially because of that. They remember old wars, old enemies…they’re stuck in their ways.”

“Change needs to happen if any growth can occur.”

He gave a chuckle that was devoid of any real humor. “They’re not interested in growth, they’re interested in rot. And besides,” he sighed, sounding tired. “Change shifts so quickly into chaos. Darkness and chaos are not the same, despite the opinions of some. Though this Kingdom thrives on darkness, it has been stable under my rule.”

She grabbed his hand, cradling it. “It will stay stable,” she assured him, warmth and steel in her voice. “And it will become stronger.  _Both_  of our kingdoms will, I know it, because –“

_Because we’ll have each other._

The words weren’t spoken but they still seemed to echo in the room, and she did not flush, did not feel embarrassment. It was the truth, and she wasn’t ashamed of it, even if she dared not speak it yet. Bog’s hand, so much larger and rougher than hers, tightened around hers, and she gave it a squeeze. “Besides,” she muttered, a ghost of a grin on her lips, “at least your mother likes me.”

“In her eyes, you have saved her only son from a sad and lonely end,” Bog said dryly. “She adores you.”

Marianne let her smile grow sharp. “Oh, so you’re saying I  _didn’t_  save you?”

“Uhh…”

She burst out laughing. “Oh my god, Bog, I can _feel_  you blushing! I think I’m almost dry now because of it –"

“Do you want to stay warm or keep laughing?” He asked nastily, and she grinned at his empty bluster.

“Nah,” she said casually, wriggling back against his chest, noting with satisfaction his slight inhale. “I think I’m pretty comfortable here.” She restrained a chuckle at his grumble of “mad fairy girls”, and leaned her head into the crook of his neck, feeling a faint surprise and happiness at how easy this was, this casualness, their bantering and barbs and closeness.  _I can get this hang of this._  And no one was here to bother them.  _Thanks, Griselda_.

She grinned again, struck by an idea. “You know, we both have parents that want us to be happy. Maybe we should introduce Griselda to my dad.”

There was a definite note of apprehension in Bog’s voice when he answered. “Do you really think that’s a wise choice?”

Marianne hummed thoughtfully. “My dad is very determined to keep me at the palace as much as he can. Your mom is very determined in general. I think they would hit it off or –"

“-Or she would wear him down.” Bog continued, and oh, she  _absolutely_ heard a note of evil glee in his voice. Marianne thought her smile was a bit evil than too. He continued with mock thoughtfulness. “It’s certainly an idea.”

“Yeah, all mine, thanks very much. Be sure to thank me when it works,” yawned Marianne. She really was incredibly sleepy, and being warm and snuggled up to Bog was not helping her stay any kind of awake.

“Or blame you when it starts a war.” Bog’s hand came up to her head, stroking her hair, and she let out a soft groan of contentment.

“Oh Bog Kings of little faith…” she murmured, and was about to add an even more amazing retort when she felt his fingers – long, sharp, wickedly strong – sink into her hair and  _ohhhhh my **god**_ –

Her low moan was positively indecent, and she would have blushed at his slightly disbelieving laugh if she could summon up anything other than the bliss she was feeling just then. “Like that, do you?”

 _“Hnnng…”_ she said articulately _. Oh god oh god oh GOD_. She valiantly tried to gather her wits. “If you stop,” she answered in a murmur that was almost a slur as his fingers continued to drag and gently rub at her skull, all the tender little places that had been aching for weeks now, “all bets are off with sparring. I will  _so_  use the spine thing if you – OH…” She gave another moan that trailed off dreamily as one of his fingers brushed against one of her ears, which had always been sensitive…oh man, if he ever found that out she would be in trouble…

“Duly noted,” he murmured, sounding like he was feeling the same way she was – calm, soothed, relaxed to the point of drowsiness. She had forgotten how late it was, and how tired she had been all this time. Melting to a near boneless state under his ministrations, she sleepily realized that Bog must have felt the same exhaustion, what with managing his Kingdom and waiting for her to come back…

The warm moss of the blanket covering her, her wings getting dry, snuggled up to Bog, his fingers running through her hair and down her scalp…she had never felt so relaxed, so protected…so precious…so loved…so…

_So sleepy…_

* * *

“Should we wake him first?”

“If we do, you can do it.”

“Why should I be the one?”

“He likes you more!”

“Does he really -? Wait. You told me that before.”

“Uhhh…”

“Maybe we should wake her up instead.”

“Are fairies nice when they get woken up?”

“How would I know that?!”

Marianne, warm and deeply content, murmured a bit and wished whoever or whatever was speaking just then would be quieter. She was bundled up and drowsing against something warm and firm that smelled absolutely  _amazing…_

“She seems to be smiling…maybe she would be happy if we woke her up?”

“Or she’s having a good dream and she’d be furious if we stopped it.”

“Oh yeah…”

Her head was tucked underneath something, something that seemed to be breathing with deep, measured breaths. She let out a deep sigh of happiness, feeling deliciously well rested, and pushed her face into whatever she was snuggled up against, trying to figure out its smell. Moss and slightly rotting wood and dry leaves and something pure and wild and like nighttime, yes,  _nighttime and wind and moonlight cool against her skin…_

“Um, your ladyship? Your highness?”

“Princess Marianne?”

_Moonlight against her skin as Bog stared at her, his eyes full of an emotion that was making her heart stutter -_

Bog.

She had gone to the Dark Forest to see Bog.

She had been caught in a storm.

They had been sharing the throne as her wings were drying.

She had been sitting on his lap.

They had both been so tired…

They had both… _oh, boy…_

She opened her eyes cautiously and –

_Oh, damn._

The small crowd of goblins gathered at the base of the throne room steps blinked up at her. Thang waved up at her.

Marianne blinked down at them, and then wriggled her fingers at Thang. Then she let out a small groan and wriggled her head slightly out from where it had been tucked under Bog’s chin and took stock of their positions.

She remembered sitting with her back to Bog’s chest, the moss blanket draped over her legs. That apparently hadn’t been enough for Marianne while she slept, as she now had both her arms twined around his neck, clinging to him like a burr. Her body was pressed against his as close as it could, most likely for warmth, and her legs were now sandwiched between his elbow and the throne.

For his part, Bog still had one hand in her hair, loosely cradling the back of her head, and his other arm slung about her in an embrace, his head bowed forward, nodding slightly. She had never seen him asleep before and couldn’t help being fascinated. His face was slack, his mouth gently open as he breathed. He looked incredibly peaceful and as content as she felt. 

Or had felt.

She hated herself for what she was about to do to him, but the goblins were still staring. She cleared her throat and gently shook Bog’s shoulder.

“Bog,” she hissed softly, looking for some sign of life. Nothing. She shook a little bit harder, feeling a faint sense of desperation as because apparently the goblins just  _would not stop staring at them._  “Bog, _wake up.”_

He gave a grunt and a twitch, and then suddenly drew her back to him, and she only just stopped herself from cursing in surprise. She experienced a moment of utter incomprehension at what he was doing when he, obviously still asleep, pushed his face into the crook of her neck, his sharp nose right against the nape of it. She felt her face flush bright pink when she felt him take a deep inhale before letting out a gusty sigh of deep contentment.

The goblins didn’t seem to know what to make of the sight of their king half-asleep and smelling his lady. Marianne couldn’t really blame them.  _Enough was enough._

“Bog!” she hissed, much louder, and she gave his shoulder a swat.

He jolted away from her, his eyes wide and unfocused and confused. “What -? What’s happening…Marianne?”

“Hey,” she said, wriggling her fingers at him. 

His eyes grew soft, some sleep still clinging to them, and a smile crept over his face. “Hey,” he echoed softly, his voice rough from sleep and yet still so incredibly tender.

She miraculously managed not to melt and keep her mind – somewhat – on the matter at hand. She gave a slight cough and a pointed look at the goblins, still owl-eyed at the sight of their leader and her cuddling on the throne.

Bog looked down at them, and the significance of them being there didn’t seem to hit him until after a few moments, which Marianne was quick to blame on remaining drowsiness. He blinked at them, and this time it was Stuff who gave a wave.

Bog immediately snapped up, his face shifting into a fierce glower. “And  _what_ ,” he snarled, menacing and full of authority, “are you lot doing, milling around so?”

“Well, we wanted to see if we could come back into the throne room –" Thang began to explain.

“ – Before Griselda woke up so she wouldn’t feed us to a lizard –" Stuff interjected.

“ - But then we saw that you and the princess were asleep on the throne –"

“ – And the princess wasn’t snoring like she was the last time she was asleep here –"

Marianne felt herself flush.  _Stupid goblin ale._

“ – And we weren’t sure who to wake up first –"

“ – And then you started smelling the princess –"

“ENOUGH!” Bog yelled, his teeth bared. “LEAVE THIS ROOM AT ONCE AND DON’T COME BACK UNTIL I COMMAND YOU TO!”

The crowd of goblins fell over themselves trying to get to the doors first. Thang was the last one out and waved to Marianne. “Good morning, Lady Marianne! Good to see you again!” A hand that Marianne was quite sure belonged to Stuff reached back through the door and grabbed him before the doors banged shut, echoing in the room.

Bog immediately dropped the snarl and leaned back, groaning to himself. Marianne felt like doing the same, but instead chose to focus on the positive. Mainly, that they were once again alone. She waved a hand in front of his face, and he glanced at her, his expression a mix between disgruntled and an awkwardness that seemed to say  _I Fell Asleep On The Throne With Marianne And All My Dimwitted Subjects Saw It And I Don’t Know How She Will React_.

Marianne found it oddly endearing. That’s what she would later blame her next actions on, which was to lean over and kiss him on one prickly cheek. She ignored the weird flutter her heart gave at the dumbfounded look in his eyes and bit her lip, before giving him a grin. “Hey,” she said again softly.

“…Hey,” he said, his voice once again doing that tender-rough thing that made her all gooey inside. He rubbed a hand over his face tiredly, before quirking a brow at her. “Sleep well?”

“Very,” she replied, smirking at him. He gave an answering one.

“Wings?”

She looked at her wings, still spread out on the throne. She gave them a test flutter, and was pleased to see that they were indeed much dryer. “Damp, but much improved.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to fly?”

She knew what he really wanted to ask, and answered accordingly. “I think so, but not far enough to get back to the Fairy Kingdom. So you’re stuck with me, for at least…oh gosh, maybe a week?” She clucked her tongue and gave him a look of faux-regret. “Poor you.”

“Poor me,” he echoed as his eyes got a distinct glint to them, one that made Marianne’s heart thud a bit in a way she most definitely enjoyed. “How will I ever survive such a trial?”

She hummed and snuggled back up to him. “I can think of a few perks.” She felt his smirk grow before continuing. “I can’t wait to hang out with Stuff and Thang some more.”

His voice was notably colder when he replied. “Low blow, Tough Girl.”

“Eh, you’ll get over it. Besides, you’re forgetting that I’ll need a place to sleep.” He gave a snort, not really over her earlier comment, and she grinned at his obliviousness before dropping the bombshell. “I think your bed will do nicely.”

He went immediately still, and there was a very noticeable gulp that she was absolutely going to use to her advantage later before he replied.

“You…you sure that’s a wise idea?” His voice was a bit faint, and there was honest bewilderment in his eyes, but there was something else, something else that made her get almost giddy.

“Why not?” she replied nonchalantly, kicking out her legs over the edge of the throne. “I miss the moss. I want to be able to appreciate it properly.”

“Properly…?”

He looked like he was about to keel over, and she dropped the teasing. “Bog,” she said seriously, sitting up straight and looking him in the eye, her face open and frank. “Nothing needs to happen. I’m not expecting anything. I just think…” she shifted a bit, not wanting to admit she felt a bit awkward discussing this so…openly. “I just think that it would let us be alone more. Not bothered by anyone else.” She reached out a hand and traced the line of his face, her expression a bit wistful. “Eight weeks really was a long time to go without seeing you…”

He reached up a hand and grabbed hers, keeping it in place as it stroked his cheek. His eyes were intense when they met her gaze. “I don’t want there to be a chance that this will be something you’ll regret.”

She rolled her eyes at him. “Me spending time with you is never something I would regret.” She reached up her other hand, cradling his face as he stared at her, earnest and serious and vulnerable, and she felt her heart being tugged in a way that made her ache. “Bog, I’m serious. I just want to be with you. Nothing else needs to happen.”

After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he nodded, and she felt her heart lift as he started to smile. She returned it, feeling relieved. She had meant everything that she said. Just being alone with him, talking to him with no one else to bother them…that was more than enough for her. It was still early in their…whatever it was that was going on between them, and she wasn’t going to ruin anything by worrying about it.

But…if something  _did_  happen, when the moon was painting the sky silver and she and him were alone, snuggled up together on that mossy bed of his, no chance of interruptions, feeling his heart beat next to her own…

Well. Like she said, she wasn’t going to worry about it.

She tossed her head, clearing her thoughts and gave a huge yawn. Bog merely stretched and gave his neck an enormous crack, and he gave a groan rich with satisfaction. Marianne felt her gut clench.  _Keep it together, Tough Girl._

Bog grabbed the mossy blanket off of her, tossing it to the floor. She nudged at it with her foot. “I suppose there’s always the option of sleeping on the throne. It’s a surprisingly comfy place.”

Bog snorted, his expression going sour. “Aye, and you would wake up to the goblins every morning, speculating about your lack of snoring.”

She made a face at him. “Well at least they didn’t see me sniffing you, you big weirdo.”

Bog immediately flinched, going on the defensive. “I was half asleep, you know, it’s not like I was – wait…” he paused, something obviously coming to his attention. “What do you mean, they didn’t  _see_  you doing that to me?”

Marianne immediately felt her face bloom into a flush. “Uh…”

A look of positively unholy glee dawned on Bog’s face.  _“Marianne.”_

“Oh, okay, you know what? Shut up, that’s what,” she blurted out, embarrassment and irritation making her retorts sloppy and her neck feel all hot and prickly.  _Why had she said anything, why?!_

“Sooo…” Bog drawled, obviously enjoying every little bit of her discomfort. “Miss Tough Girl is something of a hypocrite when it comes to –"

“Sniffing people? Gosh, I wonder why I wouldn’t want anyone to know that I do that. Oh, I know,  _it’s because it’s weird_.”

“But you did it to me.”

“And you did it to me!”

“So now we’re even.” Bog raised a brow at her before pushing himself off of the throne, grabbing his scepter and making his way down the steps to the doors. Marianne, who had been gearing up for a large battle or blackmail arrangement, blinked at his back, thrown for a loop. So…that was it?

Bog saw her look of surprise and gave her a smirk, but there was no taunt to it, no mockery. It was simple commiseration, pure  _It Might Be Weird But At Least We Have It In Common_. Which…rather summed up their relationship, once she thought about it. She slowly grinned. Not everything had to be a fight, she was finding, and she rather liked that.  _Though speaking of fights…_

“Spar with me later?” She asked, shifting her stance and cocking a hip. She reached back and grabbed her sword from where it rested, the pommel a welcome weight in her hand.

“As soon as I can,” he agreed, and gave his scepter a spin, obviously showing off.

“Loser has to make the other person’s lunch.” She said, flipping her sword and rolling it over her back in a smooth motion before catching it with a flourish.

He gave her a slightly pitying look. “Now Marianne, have some mercy. I have no idea whether or not you’re a good cook.”

She gave a bark of laughter at that. “I hope you’re better at preparing a meal than you are in a fight, oh mighty Bog King.”

His smile was sharp with malicious promise, and she returned it. Oh, this week was going to be  _fun._  She saluted him with her sword, and he graciously nodded at her before turning to the doors, before she was seized with an idea and called out to him.

“Hey, Bog?”

“Aye?”

“Moss, rotting wood, dry leaves and nighttime.”

The look he gave her almost made her want to laugh out loud, his confusion was so great. “ _Moss and…what?_  Marianne, what are you going on about -?”

“Moss, rotting wood, dry leaves, and nighttime,” she repeated patiently, watching his brows knit in bewilderment. “Sometimes the wind that comes through the Dark Forest.”

She struggled to keep a grin off of her face as he mulled over her words, still looking deeply perplexed. “What are you saying, is that a list or something…?” He paused, and understanding dawned on his face. “Wait, is that what you smell when -?”

“Mm-hm. Moss, rotting wood, dry leaves and nighttime. So…?”

“So…?” He looked at her questioningly. She sighed.

“Your turn.” She said pointedly.

His face immediately flushed. “Marianne, uh…I don’t think…”

“Bog, come on. I told you, so now you tell me.” She folded her arms and tapped a foot, looking at him as imperiously as she could.

“It’s just I’m not sure I can be as precise as you –"

“No excuses, Bog.”

“But it’s just –"

_“Bog.”_

He paused, looked at her expression, and then sighed before fixing his eyes on the floor. “Fresh grass, the berries that grow in your Fields, summer wind, freesia… at least I think it’s freesia, I haven’t been near one in years…and,” he paused, then licked his lips nervously before continuing, “…and sunlight. Or something like that.”

Marianne pondered the list, feeling her heart give a little glow of gladness. Sunlight for her, huh? And nighttime for him. Maybe they really were perfectly matched.

He looked so nervous there, so deeply uncomfortable, and she didn’t even think about it, she gave her wings a flutter and flew, dipping and clumsy and damp, right up to him and gave him another kiss on his cheek. “Go scare some goblins.”

He put a hand to his cheek and looked at her, not sure if she was teasing him again, and she gave him a grin full of warmth and affection and yes, amusement, but it was amusement borne out of sharing a wonderful, slightly crazy secret.

He rubbed his cheek and gave her a slow grin in return, and her heart gave a twist as she saw the look in his eyes. Before she could react, he cupped the back of her neck with one hand and drew her to him. She barely had time for even the quickest thought of surprise when he brought his mouth down to hers and gave her a brief but utterly amazing kiss –  _warmth and wanting and possessiveness and the slight scrape of sharp teeth against her lips -_ before he released her.

She stumbled back, her head dizzy, her knees weak, her heart thudding and oh man,  _oh man,_  it hadn’t even been super passionate,  _how_ was he able to do this to her?

He grinned at her dazed expression and opened the throne room doors. “I’ll see you soon,” he promised, his gaze intense, and he left the room, letting the door swing behind him.

She lifted her fingers to her mouth, feeling giddy, before turning on her heel and heading off to find either Stuff or Thang so they could send word to her father about her being unable to return home for week – well, at  _least_  a week. A laugh escaped from her, she felt that light and free, and her still damp wings fluttered behind her.

She obviously needed to be caught in more storms if this was the remedy.


End file.
